Beast of the Dark
by FiddlingCrispo
Summary: In which Simon explored the jungle at night, saw the dead parachutist and related privately to Ralph what he had found. A fan plot of 'What if Simon didn't die'. Ralph/Simon


**Title: Beast of the Dark**

In which Simon explored the jungle at night and related privately to Ralph what he had found. A fan plot of 'What if Simon didn't die'.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters; I think everyone knows that because hey, Lord Of The Flies(William Golding) is a serious classic :-)

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Ralph lay very still on his back. The threat of heat gone in the dead of night, he was pleased to find himself slackened in his hut, finally off duty and in grateful possession of a layer of dry bed leaves. They were somehow helpful in warding off the stuffy, sweat-inducing humidity beneath his back, and their earthy smell a humble deodorant against several of his snoring hut-mates that so needed a proper bath ever since they dropped in. He sighed, gave in to a rueful smile, and was almost convinced of the said comfort.

He had no idea if he had been dreaming. All he knew was that after a few indeterminate moments of grimacing, harrumphing, and perhaps staring in imaginary anticipation of some form of on-time rescue, his mind grew muddled and slipped into a dark tunnel, wherein he saw himself running about for fear of the unknown, and there was no light, no way out. He couldn't see, was no more than a petty existence at the mercy of the vast, engulfing horror; he clasped his hands to his eyes and cried out-

'Ralph! Ralph!'

The scream ceased and was replaced by something else: a hushed, almost furtive voice, calling him persistently. A hand was on his arm, shaking him. Ralph opened his eyes. Vision blinded by darkness, mind still lingering over the frightened scream in his head, he shuddered at the realisation of physical touch and made to scramble away.

'Ralph,' the voice came closer over the rustling of leaves, 'it's me, Simon.'

Something like a shock of relief coursed through Ralph's body. He sat up and peered in what he assumed was the right direction.

'Don't you scare me like that again!'

His voice came in a hushed curse.

Simon did not speak. For several seconds the hut was so deathly silent, Ralph had to grope for the other boy's arm to make sure he was still physically present.

'What?'

He heard Simon stir.

'Sorry, Ralph, I didn't mean to…'

Ralph could already feel the heat of exasperation rising up his neck.

'All right, I mean what did you call me for. Did you hear anything? Was it the-'

He paused at the unmentionable. Even his hushed voice sounded eerily loud in the dark.

Simon moved closer. It seemed that he was being more furtive than was his wont.

'Come and see. I just found it… up over the rocks. You go see and explain to them tomorrow, Ralph.'

Ralph felt a hand clinging to his arm. He shook it away, tense with untellable suspense. He glared at Simon even though he knew the other couldn't see it.

'Go up the mountains at night, do we? I won't.' he hissed, suppressing a growing desire for a tantrum, 'what's up there on the rocks? Why can't you just, just sleep at night like a normal person?'

A few paces to their left, a bigun mumbled and turned in his sleep. Simon, as was always in case of an accusation, shrank away with nothing but faint, mortified rustles. This realisation only provoked Ralph. He's had enough with ghost talks and the beast business; he was never willing to admit that there really is a beast on the island, but the fears and doubts from nearly everyone, especially from his fellow biguns who surely had pursued some scientific studies in the other life, if that wasn't enough to founder his erstwhile conviction, then a barmy, stealthy night wanderer like Simon would surely serve as a grim finishing touch.

Ralph was stern-faced when he saw Simon the following morning.

'I want to talk to you.' He said, offhandedly, looking Simon straight in the eyes, 'about last night, I mean. About the thing you said to me.'

Simon swallowed. His blush was shadowed by the curtain of coarse black hair that fell into his eyes.

'I don't know what you saw up there and I don't think it matters much, really, if you know what a lousy mess we've already ended up in.' said Ralph more quickly now, giving vent to many things he had previously planned to deliver in an assembly and in a more sensible manner, 'people are easily afraid now; I am too, sometimes, and the worst is we don't know what we're actually afraid of. I said there isn't a beast because that's just how the world works, only you lot are just afraid of nothing and won't believe me, and you come up with the whole beast thing. Now I don't know if there's a beast at all, I'm no longer sure of anything, but if we don't mention it we might feel better, see? If you've seen something spooky you keep it right to yourself.'

At length he finished, awaiting a reaction. Simon looked up. Shadowed by the shock of black fringes, his face was difficult to read.

'I…didn't say I find the beast, Ralph.'

His voice sounded as if he was beseeching rather than justifying himself.

'I…don't believe in the beast, not the one they are talking about, honestly.'

Ralph let out a sigh. 'I don't care which beast you believe in, Simon. One is enough, and you better not talk about yours in front of the others.'

Then he turned on his heels, intended to go to the swimming pool for some sort of sunny, watery release. Simon sensed it and, goaded by a feeling of urgency, caught his arm. 'You have to come and see, Ralph…' his mind was insistent, fixated on the gruesome image of the rotting parachutist that he believed was the key to all their unease, but his voice faltered and failed him.

'I just thought it could, explain things, for all of us.' He finished lamely, acknowledging his impotence.

Ralph paused, turned back once more and caught Simon's earnest eye. For a moment he was pondering the outcome of following him and playing audience to his secretive discovery of whatever was up there, and perhaps taking the whole thing as some kind of treasure hunting game that boys his age like to engage in. The sun was up, the distraught gone with the night and he really shouldn't be that afraid, anyway.

But this was Simon; he wasn't like the other boys; he was batty, unique and stubborn in his ways and wasn't the sort to actually tell people openly what he was up to.

The erstwhile lack of communication, the casual taunts he heard the others throw at Simon, blinded Ralph. Perhaps Simon was only socially available and indispensable when it came to helping him build the shelters.

He made up his mind, smiled wryly, made sure that Simon saw the clear dismission in his eyes, and turned and began to trot to the swimming pool. Simon, however, remained where he was, his eyes following Ralph's retreating figure, a hurt look in his face.

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**Author's Note:**

I enjoy experimenting with the many what-ifs I come up with reading the canon, so I decided to write it this way, following the what-if of 'Simon didn't die': Simon saw the dead pilot, figured out it was the 'beast', and went down from the mountains at the dead of night to inform Ralph, who unfortunately did not probe into the finding out of a vague prejudice against Simon's acknowledged 'battiness'.

I think Simon's limit lies in his hyper-sensitivity, his inability to speak out his thoughts, which happens to clash with his unusual perception that otherwise could have saved the situation for all the boys on the island. My what-if would probably lead to the same end as the canon's.

Anyway, thanks for reading! A drop of review please, anyone?


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